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Literature Text
my body is brimful
of sentience, conscience,
daughters of denouement
& sons of swollen dissent --
it's getting crowded in here,
& i want to get out.
of sentience, conscience,
daughters of denouement
& sons of swollen dissent --
it's getting crowded in here,
& i want to get out.
Literature
so let us melt
i.
she must have been a beacon,
off-colour orange glass, tilted,
splitting herself in two -
he wonders
how many times she has
melted only to reshape
herself anew, each sinew
a promise snapped in two,
each smile a dying
candle.
ii.
learning to catch
fireflies in jars is an
art form of trailing sparks
down strong shoulders
and weak collarbones.
they burn, his lips and
fingers scorched
but he drowns in her light;
together they paralyze
behind glass.
iii.
if the universe was formed
from dancing spirits, they'd be
entwined orange flames
creating light for each other
in a world of darkness.
Literature
(And you love me anyway)
I trap secrets
behind onyx teeth,
creasing my wrists
with your melody.
You spill truths
from incandescent fingers,
rejoicing (lamenting) companionship
through chrome power lines.
We swap batteries and candles,
hoping we light each others' ways
while still stumbling along our own.
I get too trapped
by my life's natural disasters
to remember to celebrate
the close-earned commodities
that spill into yours.
(I want to take this moment
for the thoughts that rot to frustration
on my tongue, but this should be
about both you and me.)
I want to cradle your dreams
in my palms, the way you steady
my fears in yours. But I bleed your heart
with my (
Literature
what to do when he doesn't say it back
a)
you will give all of yourself to a boy who won't know you at all.
he will recycle your parts, make you stationary, bind you into
paper that he will gift back so you can write poetry about him.
you, too, say i love you quickly.
when he doesn't say it back, evaporate.
b)
he will kiss you in places you didn't know existed.
until him, you were a peasant in your body's palace.
he crowned you princess, broke the lock of your castle's gates.
when he doesn't say it back, load your cannons.
c)
you are a fountain pen.
look him in the eye when you write him letters on your skin.
when he asks to read them, surrender.
you have always be
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Comments2
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This would be a great "rebel" poem. Oh, you put a voice-over of it in a movie set in the seventies, driving down the highway in a Charger to a quiet, out-of-focus Springsteen song, involve twentysomethings, and boom, you got yourself a revolution... thing.